Serious
by terrified
Summary: A [silly & fluffy] one-shot. The detective is mysteriously absent on the day he has to collect some prized specimens from Molly at Bart's. Worried, Molly rushes to see if anything serious has happened, much to the surprised amusement of John and the delight of the detective.


**_A/N: _**_Dedicated to artbylexie who has hurt herself and is having a bad day. x There's nothing like a bit of silly Sherlolly fluff__ to make things better. :) _

* * *

**Serious**

A crisis had obviously occurred. _Obviously_.

Molly was no consulting detective but she did not have to be one in this case. She had been waiting in the morgue with the prized stomachs of the four murder victims who had been found bloated and grey in the middle of a sheep farm. It had taken a lot of paper work to have them released to Sherlock Holmes for him to conduct his experiments outside of the hospital, but she had done it. Molly always managed to make it work. So when the arranged time arrived for him to come pick them up and he was absent with not even a whisper of a text, Molly knew something had happened.

The first thing she did was text him. Sherlock was never one to make appointments, and if he did, he never kept them. The only ones he did make_and_ keep, were those he made with her to collect specimens. Fifteen worried texts later, Molly received no word from the detective and stuck to her conclusion.

_Something serious has happened_.

For some reason, it had not occurred to her to call John or Mycroft. She simply panicked and popped the stomachs back in their chilled compartments and made a dash for Baker Street.

When she pounded on the door, she was greeted by a perplexed John.

"Molly? What are you doing here?" he asked, letting her in.  
"Is-" she paused to catch her breath, "Is everything all right?"  
"Yes," he answered, eyeing her warily. "Has something happened?"  
"I was going to ask _you_ that." she said, making her way right into the flat.  
"I don't underst—"  
"Where's Sherlock?" she asked, interrupting.  
"Well, he's at home," John asked, following behind her, "He's having one of those mornings where I don't hear from him until supper."

_Something's definitely happened. _

When Molly heard what John said, she was only slightly relieved. At least he was home. She then marched right down the corridor that led to his room, turned the knob and let herself right in. Another relieved exhale escaped her as she laid her eyes on the lean figure that lay ramrod straight in its bed. His white sheet covered him up to his chin and there seemed to be a frown on his face. She could not tell if he was asleep and he seemed like he was in a bit of discomfort.

"What's going on, Molly?" John asked, emerging at Sherlock's door.  
"An hour ago, he was supposed to collect stomachs from me at Bart's," she said, sitting herself beside Sherlock's still figure.  
"_Oh_. The sheep farm murders?" said John.  
"That's the one," she answered, studying Sherlock's face.  
"That _is_ peculiar then," John remarked, folding his arms, "I've not heard him stir all morning."

Molly leaned over Sherlock's face and gently placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was cool and there was no temperature.

"Sherlock?" she whispered.

His eyes flit open immediately. He had obviously been only half-asleep. When he saw her, his eyes went wide at first, stunned to see her. Then he relaxed and one corner of his mouth lifted into a sort of partial smile.

"Oh. You're here" he said quietly.  
"What happened?" she whispered, leaning down to him again. Molly gave him a quick kiss on his forehead and brushed his dark fringe aside.

"Did you just—?" John asked, pointing at Molly as his confused eyes registered the kiss Molly had given Sherlock.

The pair temporarily ignored John as Molly and Sherlock continued to converse quietly. John could not pick a thing out from their hushed voices. Every so often, Molly would place her hand on Sherlock's cheek, or lean down to kiss him again.

Suddenly, Molly sat up as Sherlock began to stir. She then placed one hand behind his back and held his hand with the other. Together, the pair then worked to sit the detective up in his bed. It seemed very slow and painful and Sherlock would wince now and again. Molly's hand propped him up as she held him firmly. When he was finally upright, Molly resumed her seat beside him as Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief and turned to kiss Molly on the cheek.

"_What_ is going on?" asked John  
"I've hurt my neck," Sherlock said, grimacing as he tried to turn his head, "Isn't it obvious?"  
"Yes, I can see that," John remarked, "But I was asking about…" He pointed at the pair, his finger oscillating jerkily between the two.  
"Oh. Well, you know Molly…" the detective muttered.  
"I know who Molly is, Sherlock,"

Molly let out a laugh as she sat up and walked over to John.

"Sorry we didn't tell you." she said. "I wanted to, but Sherlock…"  
"I wanted to see how long it'd take for you to notice," interrupted the detective as he gingerly manoeuvred his body so as to place his feet on the floor.

It was John's turn to laugh now. He would never have noticed, because it would never even have occurred to him.

"You sure about this, Molly?" teased the detective's best friend.  
"I don't know," she said with a shrug and a grin.  
"Don't make jokes, Molly," grumbled the detective.  
"You know this is a serious commitment?" John said with an amused grin.

Molly grinned in return as she and John both turned to fix their eyes on the world's only consulting detective who sat in bed rather forlornly.

"I've got a good return policy on this one," she joked back.  
"Please share that information with me. _Please._" John said with a laugh.  
"I just ship him off to his brother," Molly whispered to John as they both burst into chuckles.

Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of Sherlock clearing his throat and shuffling in his sheets.

"I can hear what you're saying, you know," Sherlock said.

Shaking his head and still grinning widely to himself, John excused himself and left the pair to their own devices. Molly walked back towards Sherlock and planted a generous kiss on his mouth.

"Feeling better?" she asked, smiling.  
"A little," he replied.  
"How bad is the neck?"  
"Terrible," he said, matter-of-factly.  
"I could try to bring the stomachs over," she suggested, "Might cheer you up."  
"No, not with this stupid, sore neck," he said, hissing as he tried to tilt his head.  
"What do you need then?" asked Molly, moving to sit beside him.

The detective smirked and reached for her hand.

"You." he answered simply, as he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

**END**


End file.
